


I been facing trouble almost all my life

by CharlieDC



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Jack Needs a Hug, Las Vegas Aces, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, National Hockey League, Polyamory, Polypucks, Providence Falconers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieDC/pseuds/CharlieDC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Aces wingman Jeffery Gorkowzki checked Jack in from behind, ramming a knee into his back and slamming Jack’s unprotected head into the boards. It was all because of a four-in-a-row point lead that the Falcs had on them, (mostly due to Jack’s sharp shooting). It was all him; and he was living in the elated moment (the icy air in his lungs and the glide of his skates on the floor) with his teammates in the celly - that is, up until now. Up until the moment he saw his blood on the boards and his back giving out on him, his head throbbing like a bitch and-</p><p>-and he got checked again, this time shouting louder."</p><p>In which everyone's favorite OT4 comes to the rescue for Jack Zimmermann.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I been facing trouble almost all my life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Yam Fam](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Yam+Fam).



> All right friends, we got the first Polypucks fic on AO3!! *Accepts award* I'd like to thank my wife, Vicky, my son, Dab Tree and my sister, Matney for always being there when I wanted to go off on headcannons about these four. 
> 
> Our network for Polypucks can be found at [here!](polypucks.tumblr.com) Network consists of what will be fic recs, great fan art (all fan art is great fan art, personally) and so many much headcannons.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Fuck!” 

It echoed with the remaining sound of wild fans, noisemakers and the sound of skates on ice. Seconds later, the expletive rang out in the large arena, as Jack Zimmerman crouched over in pain from the initial impact. 

Aces wingman Jeffery Gorkowzki checked Jack in from behind, ramming a knee into his back and slamming Jack’s unprotected head into the boards. It was all because of a four-in-a-row point lead that the Falcs had on them, (mostly due to Jack’s sharp shooting). It was all him; and he was living in the elated moment (the icy air in his lungs and the glide of his skates on the floor) with his teammates in the celly - that is, up until now. Up until the moment he saw his blood on the boards and his back giving out on him, his head throbbing like a bitch and-

-and he got checked again, this time shouting louder.

“ _ Shit!” _

This time, however, he had no will power to turn around and beat the shit out of the guy. He slumped down on the ice though, blood gushing from his (broken) nose.  _ Sitting seems nice at the moment _ , he thought,  _ I’ll just sit for now. _ He can kick Gorkowzkis’s sorry ass another time. His helmet lay deflated next to him as he tipped his head back and waiting for the medics to take him away, feeling his blood run over his lips, the throb in his head not seeming to cease in the near future.

Out for a game. Aaaagain.

Tater was at his side within seconds, putting on a neutral face so as not to alarm Jack. He was kneeling by his left, feathering his fingertips over the bridge of Jack’s nose. When he screamed out in pain, Tater backed away slightly, wincing with him. 

“Lisus Khristos, Jacky…” He whispered, putting a hand on the other’s shoulder to show this minimal affection and love in the small space and time of this moment.

“That bad?” Jack side-eyed him.

“Eh, I’ve seen worse.” Tater shrugged, and the smile he let loose was contageous enough to catch on Jack’s lips as well.

Gorkowzki was skating backwards, giving Jack the finger. How lovely; what an image, especially now that he’s out for a game or two. Jack flips him the bird, a small smile on his lips but anger pooling in his gut. He knew what he would look like right now: purpling nose, red over his lips and chin with a bloody smile. 

Once again, lovely. It’s like the hockey gods have it out for him these days (looking at you, Gordie Howe).

The best part though, wasn’t his Alexei by his side. It wasn’t the sweet words of Russian being whispered in his ear as the medics took to his nose, bandaging and mopping up blood. It wasn’t the fans booing Gorkowzki or cheering Jack for being sportsmanlike (kind of). Not seeing his old teammates in the stands across the ice, spewing angry words at the Aces wingman as he skated away, either.

It was the sight of Gorkowzki skating by Kent, asking for a high five.

And Kent decking him in the face.

Tater sighs deeply next to Jack (who can’t help but laugh) and gets up to skate over to Hockey Boyfriend #2, who has Gorkowzki by the jersey now.

“You touch him-” he pulled him closer so as to  _ really  _ stare the fear of God into his soul, “you fucking  _ touch Jack Zimmermann -  _ or any other player - like that  _ again _ on  _ my team  _ I will do a lot fucking worse than deck you, shitstain”

Gorkowzki just about shit himself right then and there. Maybe Gordie Howe was looking out for Jack in the long run, but a few scratches wouldn’t hurt along the way, right?

Kent smiled, leaned in closer and had both hands wrung around the neckline of his jersey, pulling him in and forcing his soul to leave his body, “I will end your career,” he leans back, “got it?’

He nodded, almost like he  _ wanted  _ whiplash, and Kent shoved him into the ice. Tater was laughing next to him; as Kent turned to skate with Tater back to their bleeding and bruising boyfriend, Tater leaned in.

“You really know how to make statement, Kenny.” His thick Russian running deep and slow, Tater nudging his shoulder as they both smile.

“Eh… it’s a gift.”

He’s crouching down next to Jack, then, and grabbing a hold of both sides of his face.

“Jesus,” he whispers. Jack winks at him.

_ Jesus _ , he thinks, but for a whole different reason. By the sound of Alexei sighing behind him, he was in the same boat (the SS Jack Zimmermann’s Bitches).

“Yeah, no, can’t do it.” Kenny says, and there’s this look of resolution, as if he’s made the hardest decision yet he says it so nonchalant Jack can do nothing but wait for the punchline.

“Can’t do what?” Jack asks, resisting the urge to reach up and hold Kent’s hands in place, to keep him close and bring him into their personal space. 

He turned around to look at Tater, the dark mesh of his Aces jersey a contrast to his light skin. Kent shrugs, “I can’t date him anymore if he’s gonna look like  _ this _ I mean come  _ on _ you agree with me right Tates-  _ oh-!” _

Alexei is laughing, again (when is he not laughing honestly), when he sees Jack punch Kent in the gut, not too hard but not very soft either.

It’s the end of the third, and they’re all just kind of standing around. Kent is still knelt in front of Jack, one hand lightly touching his face. Tater is behind them, and they’re all casually having a conversation, just the three of them when the buzzer rings.

“With that final penalty, and only 6 minutes left in the last period, the Falconers take home the win! Thank you all for coming out tonight, drive safe, and have a great rest of your evening!” The announcer is always so chipper, even though Jack has a broken nose, Kent has a bruising fist and Tater has some of Jack’s blood on his fingertips. 

They’re all still loitering about when they hear an indignant yell from across the ice. 

“God  _ dammit _ would you let me through!?” The accent is growing rougher and rougher by the minute, and they all turn their heads to see who is is. Not much of a question is left, though, as they know that Georgia voice anywhere. 

“Sir I can’t let you out on the ice when players are still-”

“You see those three right there?” He asks, pointing at the players and huffing, “Those, all three,  _ are my boyfriends!  _ Now one of them has a broken nose, and the other probably has a broken fist from defending his honor-”

“Sir-”

“You call me sir one more time and I’ll have him come over and defend  _ my  _ honor, you understand?”

Kent’s belly laughter could be heard from the locker room.

Two minutes later Bitty is crouched next to Jack, taking a look at his face with a fierceness in his eyes only a Bittle can possess.

“I swear to  _ God _ if I was on the ice tonight I would’ve kicked his ass into next Christmas.” He’s mumbling, and people are coming out to tell them all to get off the ice. Tater helps Jack up, and Kent is letting Bitty look at his hand now.

Kent is wincing, naturally, as he has his own flecks of blood and purpling on his knuckles. He does smile, though, when Jack clutches his shoulder for support. He wraps an arm around Jack’s light blue jersey, around his lower back for more leverage, and sticks his other arm out for Bitty to tuck himself into. His hand rests at Jack’s hip, Alexei’s fingers brushing his shoulder for contact, too, so as not to be left out of the flurry of affection.

“We get home and it’s ice packs for all of you.” Bitty says, and they’re laughing with him. Kent kisses the top of his head, while Bitty leans into his touch. It’s normal; it’s comfortable… all four of them wouldn’t have it any other way. Moments like these, on the ice together, knit like a perfect sweater (hands and arms woven in with one another), are moments held dear. Moments far and few between, and bittersweet all the same.

“Tater’s going to have to kick someone to join the Ice Pack Club.” Kent smiles over Jack’s head as Tater looks down on him with the fondest smile.

He huffs and helps Jack over the walkway towards their locker room, but turns back to Bitty and Kent,

“I know where I’d like to stick my foot right about now...” his expression is stone cold, but his accent has a hint of mirth to it.

“...where?” Jack asks, tentative, but he’s smiling along with the other two as they wait for his response.

“Up Jeffery Gorkowzki’s  zhopa .”


End file.
